


Changeling

by Desdimonda



Category: Naruto, Naruto Shippuden
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Juubito, M/M, One Shot, Run-away boyfriends, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 10:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17744648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desdimonda/pseuds/Desdimonda
Summary: Obito tries to accept his new form. Kakashi already has.——Written and drawn for day 10 of KakaObi Week 2019 - Juubito





	Changeling

"I can't go back."

Obito’s words feel distant. They sound sore. He's held as many different faces as names as voices. Like a changeling, becoming who you are with a click, absorbing your past, unseen. Becoming your present, like a wish. And neatly packing away your future for careful use.

“Then I wont either.”

Kakashi feels like this is his final form. Not in the way that he’s turned the last page, but that the ink has ran out. He tries to keep writing, the worlds scrawling blank, indents on pages that can only be read by touch. There’s nothing left to keep going, so he has to stick.

He lays down the pen, closes the book, pages flickering shut. 

And turns away.

“You have a life beyond me, Kakashi,” he says, holding out a hand, his clawed fingers curling so close to his face. 

Kakashi knows he wants to touch, but he’s afraid that when he does, he wont let go.

“What if I want my life to be you?” 

He thought it would hurt to say. Detachment from one life to the next - a next life that was scattered into a million jigsaw pieces that he wasn’t sure even fit. But he wasn’t sure the pieces of his current one, did. They were jammed together, the gaps filled with whatever he could find, even if nothing really made sense.

Obito always made sense - to his _heart._

His head made such little sense that maybe it was time to stop listening. When was the right time to give in?

“It’s a life I can’t give you,” he says, simply, watching the rings of his staff stir in the breeze. It’s sunset now, but no light catches the black. It’s absorbed. Stolen. Forgotten. Like he once was.

He looks down at Kakashi, at peace.

But never, by him.

“And what life do you think that is?” says Kakashi, reaching up a hand to meet his, fingers hovering a breath beside his black clawed fingers. His skin was a demure white now, awash with teal. But whatever was beneath, around, with, it wanted to be that. The sun licks the cracked scales, plucking a mosaic and mantle to his skin; the rough ridges on his knuckles that Kakashi tries to read, and at last, the deep indents of muscle that were now both flesh and front. 

Chaos and duty; fear and beauty.

One of the black chakra orbs that hung at his back forms above Obito’s palm, hovering at peace. He taps each of his claws against it, watching the way it kneels to him. 

Kakashi touches his hand. Finger, by finger, watching the way his claws move against the descrutction in his palm - enough to level a country.  But he wasn’t afraid. 

“Answer me.” He looks up. They still have eyes that match. Obito’s had cried the throes of anger for most of his life. But in this form, they bled an odd innocence. One could call this a re-birth. Or a beginning. Kakashi sometimes wondered if Obito called it a mistake when he saw sorrow tip his long lashes. 

One fell as he blinked.

“A life you deserve,” Obito says at last, tentatively reaching a claw to Kakashi’s fingertip. They touch.

“What about what I want?” 

Obito touches another claw to finger. Then another. He wonders what they’ll feel like against his chest, his thighs, running through his hair.

“We never get what we want.”

Kakashi has his hand now. He pulls. He pulls hard, Obito gracefully falling on-top, his staff tumbling to the stone with a click, click.

“But it looks like I do,” says Kakashi, drawing a hand along his scaled flesh, inch, inching up and up until it crests a horn, feeling the way it’s moulded to his body, anew. 

Kakashi’s hair parts between his claws like forgotten wisps of clouds, falling, falling away.


End file.
